


let the rain fall down, i'm coming clean

by entirely_too_tall



Series: Chowderweek 2017 [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Frogs, Gen, and the frogs as in the people of course, as in the animal, eating them, or the concept of eating them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 01:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entirely_too_tall/pseuds/entirely_too_tall
Summary: Chowder gets the flu and asks Bitty to make him congee, but it seems that what he likes is a bit too exotic.





	let the rain fall down, i'm coming clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Chowderweek 2017 day 4: frogs. 
> 
> Honestly, I knew when I made that prompt that I wanted to talk about eating frogs, because it is underappreciated and also tastes just like chicken. It's literally called "paddy chicken" in the Chinese languages. 
> 
> Warning: Bitty acts in his usual infantilizing manner, and makes a classist remark that Chowder takes to be racist, and being sick and miserable, pushed him over to lash out. They talk it out.
> 
> Title from Come Clean, by Hilary Duff. A classic that y'all kids should learn.
> 
> Check Please and its characters belong to Ngozi, I am only expanding upon it for our collective non-commercial pleasure.

Thank goodness it was a Sunday with no practice, no games, no upcoming midterms, no homework due soon. Chris could lounge about all day and do whatever he wanted. And whatever he wanted was to sleep the damn day away because of his goddamn flu, that’s what he wanted. It was miserable, cold November winds blowing outside, and he had been sneezing his throat raw. 

 

Rolling around in his bed didn’t do much to help him rest, because he was hungry, but didn’t have any appetite, which was totally unfair. Curse the human body for being so indecisive. Maybe something soothing, like soup, or congee. Yes, yes congee, ugh Chris wanted congee now. 

 

Fortunately it’s easy to make, if he could just drag himself out of bed. But then what good is the constant mothering of Bitty if he couldn’t just be used to make Chris some congee? Chris didn’t bother to feel much guilt over getting Bitty to cook for him whenever he himself didn’t feel like putting in the effort. He felt that his “my son” privileges came with vastly convenient benefits, annoying as it is to be babied sometimes.

 

With that decided, Chris picked up his phone and texted Bitty, who was audibly singing along to Little Mix on this fine evening in his room across the hall. What enablers of utmost laziness, modern technology. Tcah! Chris was unwell, infirm, bedridden! He didn’t need to be told off, by himself no less.

 

Bitty knocked on the door and came in, shuffling over to fuss over Chris in his unwell infirm bedridden state. “Oh sweet baby Chowder, you’re feeling under the weather? You wanted me to whip up something for you?”

 

Again with the babying. But hey, Chris was milking it for the labour, so he figured he could put up with that. Right now, he had some congee to procure, so to speak. “I am kinda feeling like the flu bug bit me. It’s all hot and cold, and I’m really tired.” Boy, was Chris milking it, putting an extra whine in at the end. “Could you maybe make me some congee?”

 

“Sure thing, hun. I think we still have some rice left, back from when Nursey had his paella phase.” Bitty took it all in hook, line and sinker. Chris high-fived himself internally, though he kept his face frowned and pained. He had to keep the look for the part.

 

“I’ve never made congee before, though,” Bitty confessed, “but I’m sure I can follow a recipe if you have one?” 

 

That one left Chris for a loop, because he didn’t actually _have_ a recipe. He’d always just done it by taste and whatever’s one hand. He’d made so many it was second nature, and he didn’t really think much about the process or the ingredients. He told Bitty as much, and added “we could just look up something online that sounds like something I’d like?”

 

They settled into a few minutes of research, with Chris being surprisingly picky. Okay so maybe he _did_ have some thoughts about congee, but none of these recipes online were even close! In the end he chose one that at least had the texture that looks like what he likes, a little on the watery side, and had Bitty write down the additional ingredients he wanted.

 

“Garlic, ginger, onion, shallots, green onion, beans, radish, some tender meats or fish, the soy sauce, sesame oil, and chili oil on the side,” Bitty rattled off the list. “Wow, this is quite the gourmet meal you’ve ordered.”

 

“Yup, it’s how my grandmother would make it! It’s gonna be so good, Bitty!” Chris was genuinely excited about it now, if Bitty was actually going to make the congee like how he told him.

 

“You sure you didn’t leave out anything else? A golden goose egg, maybe?” Bitty teased.

 

“Actually, now that you mention eggs!” Chris exclaimed. “Salted duck egg! Oh that would be so good with congee. Oh, oh! Better yet, century egg! _Pei tan zhuk_ , that’s hella good.” Chris’ mouth watered at the thought. Century egg with his congee would be _so good_.

 

“What’s a century egg? Salted duck egg? Like, can I boil a normal chicken egg and add salt?” Bitty pondered, confused.

 

“No, like a salted duck egg. Like you just get them at the store.” Chris said. Bitty just continued to look puzzled. “You’ve never had that? You don’t know salted duck eggs or century eggs?”

 

Bitty shook his head. Chris pulled up his phone again to look them up, “here I’ll show you. There are lots of congee recipes that use these eggs.”

 

Chris found one and it loaded to the most decadent bowl of congee he had ever seen. Seriously, it had the works: century egg, salted duck egg (who puts two kinds of eggs at the same time?!?), _yao zha kwai_ , pork floss, fish, _char siew_ (what is going on? so many meats too??), 3 different kinds of pickles, tofu (this is getting too much), and even _tin gai!_ Last—but holy shit—not least at all.

 

“OMG Bitty!! They have _tin gai_! Nobody I know is ever gonna eat congee with all these at the same time but like ohmygod they have _tin gai_!” Chris had grabbed Bitty by the arm and was excitedly shaking him, much too enamoured with the idea of having _tin gai zhuk_ at the moment.

 

“What’s that, tin guy? You really like it huh? Haha, I’ll make it for you, you just gotta give me a recipe to make it sweetie.” Bitty laughed.

 

“Oh! _Tin gai_ is what we call frogs. Well, frog legs, specifically is the part we eat, and they really do taste like chicken! I know it’s cliche but it really is —” Chris paused his own chattering as he noticed Bitty’s face of open shock.

 

“Bitty, are you ok?” Chris asked.

 

“Frogs!” Bitty exclaimed.

 

“Yeah?” Chris prodded, through he got the distinct feeling it was not going to end well.

 

“You eat frogs!” Bitty repeated, not much in the way of explanation.

 

“Yeah, and?” Chris asked again, knowing he shouldn’t but but unable to stop himself. He shouldn’t be poking at this. How many times before has he had this line of conversation that never went his way? And now it’s going to happen again.

 

“But they’re gross! Why would you eat frogs? That’s disgusting!”

 

Yup, there it was.

 

“Right. Frogs are gross. I’m gross, I’m disgusting, I like to eat dirty frogs that you are too good for.” 

 

Chris was fuming. He had heard enough of these remarks over the years, how the things he liked to eat were weird and gross and wrong. He had learnt to careful not to bring up _tin gai_ anymore, not to bring up most of his “ethnic” food except the ones arbitrarily deemed “trendy” instead. Pig feet are fine but chicken feet are not. It’s all so messed up. 

 

He made one slip up after all these years and nothing had changed, nothing will ever change in this stupid racist world and Chris had had enough.

 

“Chowder, I didn’t mean—” Bitty started.

 

“Whatever.” Chris snapped at him. “I’m sick, I’m tired, I’m not hungry anymore. Just go. Leave me alone.”

 

“I’m sorry Chowder, I really didn’t mean that.” Bitty pleaded, as he reached out a hand towards Chris.

 

Chris yanked his blanket around his body roughly and turned away from Bitty, burying himself under the layers. He heard Bitty leave and close his door with another meek “I’m sorry”, before throwing the blanket down to his ankles and screaming into his shark plushie. 

 

So much for congee.

 

It shouldn’t hurt so much. He should be immune to people thinking about his favourite foods like that by now. It happens all the time, so he should have grown thicker skin by now. What was the point of getting angry every time anyway? Like just now, he just ruined his and Bitty’s moods. He could have let it slide. It’s not like Bitty was saying _he_ was the one that was disgusting, just frogs. Chris used to think _shellfish_ was disgusting. He liked them enough now, if cooked. Seriously, though. Raw oysters? Still grossed him out.

 

Chris made an involuntary shudder thinking about the times his family tried to make him eat those raw oysters and abalones. At least the digression made him calmer about his outburst at Bitty. He groaned and pulled up his blanket, and was finally able to fall asleep, if only to avoid thinking about the episode. 

 

A knocking on the bathroom door woke him up, and Chris jolted. He didn’t feel particularly rested, and his fever was worse. The sky had turned dark and he didn’t know what time it was, but it was dark in his room and the light spilling from under the bathroom and hallway doors threw his room into further darkness from the contrast. 

 

“Hey C, you feeling ok? Heard you weren’t feeling well.” It was Nursey, asking from the bathroom.

 

“Come in.” Chris managed to croak out, and felt his throat dry and uncomfortable. He also needed to pee.

 

“Whoa that sounded bad,” Nursey said as he walked in and switched on the lights. That made Chris wince and Nursey apologized, but Chris brushed him off to use the bathroom. When he returned, Nursey had gone and his bedroom door was open, so Chowder went to lie back down on his bed.

 

Right before he could close his eyes again, Nursey reappeared with a bottle of water and some aspirin, which Chris gratefully accepted. Having Nursey (and Dex) in the Haus was such a blessing, especially because they managed to get their act together and all three of them hang out all the time now, and Chris got to discover the truly ridiculous protective streaks they both had in them.

 

“Hey, do you wanna watch Netflix or something to make you feel better?” Case in point. Chris could kiss a man, if he weren’t a living (dying) bioweapon right then. 

 

“Hey Chowder,” Dex popped his head into the room at that moment. “you feeling ok? You wanna watch Netflix or something to make you feel better?” Chris could kiss _two men_. Also, the intense deja vu from hearing them independently spout word-for-word identical sentences weirded him out. Living together had made them scarily mind-meld-like in sync, like Ransom and Holster, or Ollie and Wicky.

 

Nonetheless, Chris wasn’t going to stare a gift horse in the mouth. If he was going to feel miserable, he was going to get something out of it. 

 

“You’re performing together in a few weeks, right? For Nursey your advanced poetry class? I’ve heard you practice and I wanna see it.” 

 

Nursey blanched and Dex immediately flushed red. Dex had picked up the guitar in college to pick up girls, and whipped it out at kegsters, to great success. Nursey, though, had grander plans and convinced him to collaborate on a spoken word piece, to strum and sing a backing tune to his words. It was an awesome idea, but they always practiced alone and no one had heard it. Even Chris himself had to weasel out an admission from them after hearing it through the bathroom door, and they have yet to agree to show him. Now was his chance.

 

“Now?” Nursey finally sputtered. 

 

“Yeah, you asked if anything would make me feel better. I think a rousing performance from my best friends would do the trick, don’t you think?” Chris gave his best innocent grin, and Nursey turned to Dex, who was shaking his head vigorously.

 

“It’s not ready!” Nursey exclaimed. “We, uh, we haven’t gotten it all down. It’s still gotta go through more drafts.”

 

“Yeah, and like, we don’t wanna give you a headache from our terrible show.” Dex chimed in.

 

“Nonsense! I’d love it, whatever it is. Plus, I get to give you comments, but I’m sure you guys are gonna be great!”

 

Chris could see Nursey soften, especially because receiving feedback was one of the things Nursey always appreciated. Dex was still holding out though, so Chris went for the big guns. He put on his best puppy face, and sent it straight at Dex. “Please? I’m sick. I only want to be cheered by my best friends’ amazing talents.”

 

Dex’s shoulders fell, and Chris knew he had won. They went into their room to gather Nursey’s noted and Dex’s guitar and pull a chair into Chris’ room to set up. 

 

After a few minutes of fidgeting, and a rambling explanation of how the poem worked, Nursey closed his eyes, and Dex began strumming. He hummed a tune and built the melody, which was pleasant and lulled Chris a bit, until Nursey began singing a line over and again, building the intensity. Suddenly, the strumming stopped but Dex kept humming, while Nursey opened his eyes and began his poem. 

 

It was immersive. The subject was Nursey’s amma’s singing, and about how Nursey could never understand what she sang because he didn’t speak Urdu, but he remembered that line because it was the part of the song she taught him to sing back at the right parts. Dex occasionally strummed, or stopped and resumed his humming, providing the musical backdrop to Nursey’s words painting the picture of his amma’s love. It was magical, actually.

 

The poem ended like how it started, with Nursey closing his eyes to sing the line a few times and Dex hummed and strummed, until they slowly faded it off. Chris clapped and whooped, so proud of them for showing him something so open and vulnerable. He told them as much, and Nursey’s eyes glistened from the relief of it being received well, while Dex just blushed and rubbed the back of his head. 

 

Chris managed to cajole a different poem out of Nursey, and even one more unfinished one that involved a piece of paper folded in half and Nursey and Dex alternately reading from each side with the poem held in their hands, clasped together like they were arm wrestling in the air. That one was about teamwork or brotherhood or something, definitely unfinished, but Dex was getting so red reading it that Chris suspected a lot more was involved than he knew. 

 

He didn’t get to pry, though, because Dex got a text and declared “Dinner’s ready”, and they all moved down to the kitchen to have dinner. 

 

The first thing Chris noticed walking down the stairs was the heavy aroma of ginger and sesame oil, made sharper with the humid air from the rain still pattering softly outside. It smelled familiar in a way that was peculiar, but he didn’t think much about it, still absorbed in heaping praise onto Nursey and Dex for their performance. He really did feel a lot better after seeing it.

 

When he walked into the kitchen, however, Chris immediately knew that Nursey and Dex were sent to distract him until dinner was done. Because what was laid on the table was a pot of congee, and nearly everything Chris asked for in the afternoon. There was the radish slices, green onion, sautéed chicken, the bottles of soy sauce and sesame oil, and also a box of century eggs, one of salted duck eggs, and a container of pork floss. Chris stood in the doorway, stunned. Where did Bitty even get all of those?

 

“Dex drove Bitty out to the grocery store you always ask him to bring you to,” Nursey said, and Chris realized he asked that out loud. 

 

“I didn’t get chili oil because I didn’t know how to choose them, and I didn’t want to get a brand you didn’t like. And I don’t know how to prepare the eggs, but everyone just says I slice them?” Bitty said.

 

“Yeah, you just cut the century eggs into small half-inch pieces, the salted eggs you cut into eighths lengthwise.” Chowder supplied, putting Bitty at ease with something to do with his hands.

 

Nursey and Dex added their chosen condiments, and Chris explained the pork floss to them while they waited for Bitty to process the eggs. It was interesting to come up with an analogy that they could understand it with, eventually converging on “dried pulled pork jerky”, which was not really exact, but close enough. They liked it a lot, which was to be expected, and Bitty had finished with the eggs too, so Chris went on to demonstrate how to pair the pork floss or eggs with the congee.

 

Immediately after a few taste tests, however, Dex picked up his and Nursey’s bowl and said goodbye to head up to their room, Nursey making transparent excuses of “practicing more, you know?” and leaving Chris alone with Bitty in the kitchen. 

 

The silence that followed was very awkward, given that both of them were the most talkative of the entire SMH. Eventually, Bitty broke first, words bursting forth from the dam.

 

“I’m really sorry for what I said. Nursey explained to me about how food had been a really touchy topic for Asians living in the states. Lord knows how much I’ve said that was bad to you, Nursey used a word. Micro something. I’m sorry I said it. Mama used to say things like that about hillbillies eating scum and vermin, and Nursey said that was classist too, and I felt so bad, I hope I haven’t been a bad person to you —”

 

“Bitty!” Chris raised his voice to get Bitty to stop. “Bitty, thanks for making dinner. It’s really good.” He didn’t know what to say, so he started there. Bitty always felt better when his food was complimented. Bitty didn’t reply with his usual demurring, so Chris knew that it was still his turn.

 

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I forgive you. Just don’t be too shocked at what people like to eat again.” 

 

At that, Bitty made a sigh of relief, and came around the table to hug Chris tightly.

 

“Is there anything I should know about, that I did wrong? The micro-whatever?”

 

“Microaggressions.”

 

“Well I sure wasn’t being aggressive. I’m the exact opposite of aggressive!”

 

“I know, it’s a poor word, but it’s what we have right now. Besides you have passive-aggressive down.”

 

It earned Chris a glare, which only proved his point further, and made him laugh.

 

“Anyway, you could start by not calling me your son or baby or child. I’m the oldest frog, and I’m old enough to drink now. Legally. I know you don’t mean much by it, but Asians get treated as less mature all the time. I’d like to be seen as my age for once, you know?”

 

“Oh my lord, I didn’t know! I’ve been doing that to you all this time! I’m so sorry, I’ll stop, I swear.”

 

“That would be great. Though I didn’t mind all the extra food I got out of it.” Chris admitted. It felt like the time to come clean.

 

“Well now you won’t get any,” Bitty said, slightly indignant at being used, though his guilt could still be heard beneath it. “From now on there is no favourite frog. None of you are getting extra anything.”

 

“WHAT?!” 

 

That was Nursey’s voice. It sounded like it came from halfway up the stairs. Were they eavesdropping?

 

Sounds of stumbling, yelps, and Dex’s grumbling followed, before they both emerged with their empty bowls. 

 

“We weren’t eavesdropping, we were just coming back for refills!” Nursey immediately began to defend their presence.

 

“It’s _chill_ , Nursey,” Chris said, since if he could forgive them first they might forget about the lack of future extra treats, or maybe forgive him. Worse come to worse, he could still pull the sick teammate card.

 

Of course, that all was forgotten immediately, when Nursey, in his stunning inability to coordinate himself off the ice, managed to knock over the entire pot of congee from the middle of the table onto the floor. So much for congee.

 

“That’s it. Nursey, you’re ordering us both dinner, pho from Far East sounds good right now. Dex, keep him out of the kitchen. I, a sick person, do not deserve this. Come on Bitty, we have to clean this up.” 

 

Chris gave his orders and saw Nursey marched out by a very exasperated Dex. When he turned to Bitty, though, he saw Bitty with tears welling up in his eyes and a trembling lower lip. 

 

“I worked so hard on it to make it for you and you didn’t even get to try it.”

 

“Hey hey, come on, no use crying over spilled congee, alright?”

 

Somehow, that worked, as Bitty cracked into a smile instead. They mopped up the mess, and cleared the table, cleaning up the dishes and kitchen together. The pho arrived and Nursey was prohibited from touching it, only allowed to pay the delivery boy while Dex took the food. The four of them settled into their meals, Nursey and Dex only sharing a few spring rolls, and they all had a good meal together in the kitchen with chirping and laughs, on a rainy night, and Chris thought to himself, it was a good Sunday.

**Author's Note:**

> The first poem is in the style of [this poem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1bYLU5n1g5M) by the amazing Fatimah Asghar and Franny Choi who you should absolutely check out, and I imagine the song to be something like Zayn Malik's interlude song [Flower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8twPKTDDpY) on the Pillowtalk album.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://ohjustletmewriteinpeace.tumblr.com).


End file.
